Every Word Has Been Used
by sdbubbles
Summary: She knows it's not normal. She knows it isn't healthy. She knows she can't live this way. But she's found every word has been used in her head, and all she can say is - "I'm fine."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is basically a complete re-write of my previous story "Battle," because I feel my perspective has deepened over the past two months, as everything fell apart and I stumbled down that slippery slope once more. So this, I hope, is deeper and perhaps better written than "Battle" was. That's the plan, anyway.**

**Sarah x**

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It wasn't an option she'd previously considered. Her father had done it so, in her family – between her and her mother – it was unspeakable. But she felt like there was nothing else she could do. She had all she needed stowed away in her office drawer; she'd been thinking about this for a while now. Now that every inch of her was bruised, and there was nothing left to prove, what was she still doing here?

She checked to see the boys were still out and opened that drawer, pulling out a pack of painkillers, and a half-bottle of whisky. She turned the small flimsy box over in her hands, trying to work up the nerve to actually do it. She didn't understand why she felt this way. All she knew was that half the time she felt nothing, and the rest of the time, whatever she felt wasn't pleasant.

She was fixated on this small box and the relief it could bring her. She'd tried everything else she could think of. She'd forced herself to smile and laugh, all the while desperately hoping that, somehow, it would stop being a lie. She'd grown closer with her team after distancing herself from them after her world was split down the middle by the lies of a dead man, but still it didn't help her. Forced herself to forge a friendship with the man who replaced her only father-figure. It wasn't that she didn't like him; she just hated that she'd lost Jack and had to accept someone else into her life. She was no good at it. She'd even tried to find someone to live her life with, failing miserably and getting hurt in the process.

Nothing could save her.

Then, a strong hand snatched the box from her, and she knew she'd been caught. "Please tell me you weren't gonna do what I think you were," demanded the rough, Glaswegian voice of Steve McAndrew. He picked up the bottle of whisky and read the label. "This is some of the strongest stuff going," he told her. "Which is probably why you've got it."

"Go away, Steve," she snapped.

"No."

"Go," she told him. "That's an order."

"Then I'm disobeying. Report me to Strickland if you want, but I'm sure he'll back me up," he challenged, and she could see he was threatening to tell Strickland what he'd just walked in on. By rights, he probably should have told their superior, but she knew he wouldn't. "And if you think I'm giving you these back, you can think again."

"Why not?!" she argued. "They're mine!"

"Because I know what you were gonna do with them!" he was almost shouting. He was obviously attempting to get through to her, even if she wouldn't admit what she'd wanted to do. "Why?" he simply asked, coming round to lean against her desk beside her. "Why?"

She couldn't answer him. There was no simple answer. It was like she'd lost something inside her, and with it, the need to keep fighting deserted her. She'd forgotten what it was to be strong and keep going; there was nothing at the end for her anymore. In truth, she had nobody. Nobody willing to put up with what she really felt, at any rate.

He was looking down on her, and, though she could see he was worried, she just wanted him to leave her in peace to immerse herself in her own special form of hell. A place where everything was cold, and she was always numb, and when something did break through it, all it was was pain.

Just then, Gerry and Brian walked in the UCOS office and she immediately said to Steve, "Don't tell them. Please." She knew what she was asking of him was incredibly selfish, and not to mention irresponsible, but she didn't think she'd be able to bear them knowing. They'd known her longer than Steve had, and probably knew her better than anyone else. At least, so they thought.

He said nothing, just giving her a sad smile and leaving her to work out what he was going to do about this. He joined his friends, laughing at something Brian had done, as if nothing had happened between them. She only hoped he'd hold his silence.

She watched Gerry for a minute, as he looked through the glass at her every minute or so. Was that fear in his eyes? Had he seen what Steve had taken from her before he threw them in his desk drawer?

There was something about Gerry; she often wondered if he saw more than he claimed to when he looked at her. That stare that penetrated the shield she used to protect herself. It was a pretty hopeless shield, granted, because it felt like it would shatter in on her at any moment. Like it would collapse with the next blow.

She walked out into the main office and put on a smile, once again hoping that maybe it would invoke some happiness in her she. She saw the look Steve gave her. It was almost accusing as she pretended she was fine, smiling at Gerry's crude sense of humour and Brian's odd habits and explanations. She made herself smile at Steve every so often, trying to make him believe he was mistaken in what he found earlier.

Even though she smiled and laughed, she felt nothing. This was why she'd considered doing it. There was nothing left for her; she was empty and cold and numb, and she didn't want to live like that anymore.

She carried the charade on until she couldn't any longer. She sent them home at four, unable to keep her smile up for them. Gerry's immediate reaction, of course, was to suggest a trip to the pub, but Sandra declined. "Too much to do," she gave a vague excuse. Steve looked at her from behind Gerry, and she knew he was wondering whether she was planning on making a second attempt on her own life.

He went against the grain by coming over to her and pulling her into his arms. "Don't do it," he whispered into her ear so that only she could hear. The words broke through the sheet of ice around her, and they almost felt like a physical blow. She could feel a hand on the back of her head, gently embracing her to try and ease whatever it was that made her this way.

Gerry said goodnight to Brian, who was heading home to face Esther's wrath after somehow managing to blow the oven up. He gave Sandra a strange stare when Steve released her, pushing her hair behind her ears. "You coming?" Steve called from the door.

"I'll catch you up, mate," he replied, not taking his eyes off Sandra. "Are you OK?" he asked.

She couldn't meet his eyes when she told him the lie with the false smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, telling the lie that rolled off the tongue so easily. He clearly didn't believe her; his expression was one of extreme scepticism.

"What was that all about, then?" he said, referring to the embrace she shared with Steve. Though he'd only took her in his arms to warn her not to do what she refused to admit she wanted to.

"He was just...saying goodnight," she lied. "You know what he's like." A flash of jealousy seemed to cross Gerry's face so she added, "And no, nothing is going on between us."

"Sandra," he said quietly. "You're starting to worry me. Every time you lie to me, all hell tends to break loose," he reminded her of her previous attempts at deceiving her friends. He had a point – she'd lied about the DNA results and a half-brother appeared. She lied about where she was going one night and then they discovered her father had an affair. She lied about where she was going very early on in their working relationship, so they proceeded to follow her and came to the mistaken conclusion that she had a girlfriend. She lied about lying, for God's sake, and now it was coming back to get her.

"I'll be fine," she tried to promise him, but she knew it was an unsustainable promise. How could she be fine later if she was so desperate just now? She was tempted to see if Steve had taken her painkillers and whisky away with him. She sincerely doubted he would have left them; he was, after all, an ex-copper who'd probably seen more than his fair share of liars.

He wasn't buying it, and she could see why. She was too tired and too defeated to put any true effort into her façade tonight.

"You can tell me anything, Sandra. You should know that by now," he scolded her lightly.

That was the thing, though. If she was perfectly honest, which was a trait she'd long lost, he would have thought she was off her head. And she would have had to agree with him. Feeling this low, this fragile, this cold, was _not_ normal. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, swallowing back tears, forcing a smile onto her face. "There's nothing wrong."

Lying was harder now than it had been when the others had been in the room. When Brian was there to reign Gerry in and Steve was there to unwittingly remind Sandra of all the reasons why telling Gerry what she was feeling wasn't a wise move. Constantly telling him there was nothing wrong was becoming harder with each time she had to say the words.

She knew he could tell he wasn't going to get anywhere with her tonight. Gerry's phone rang and he answered it. "Hey...Yeah, I'm still in the office...Sure...Yeah, I'll take it to the pub with me...See you soon," he finished, hanging up on who she assumed was Steve. "Forgot his iPod. He can't live without the bloody thing," he joked.

He went rummaging through Steve's drawers and stopped dead when he got to the middle one. "What the bloody hell is _this_?!" he asked, lifting the pills and whisky out of the drawer. "Do you think he's ill?" he asked.

Sandra felt the blood drain from her face, processing the idea that Gerry had found what Steve had confiscated from her. She couldn't answer. It wasn't long before Gerry twigged there was nothing wrong with Steve. And then she realised. Then she realised Steve had deliberately left his iPod behind so Gerry would go through his drawers and find that. And then she would have to answer for her behaviour. She would have to face it.

She couldn't say anything at all, and her silence seemed to frighten Gerry. "Sandra, what's going on? If one of you is sick, I have a right to know," he asserted, and she understood he was perfectly within his rights to be upset at finding that in a friend's drawer.

Sandra could do nothing but turn and walk away. Straight out the UCOS doors. Not turning back at Gerry's calls of her name. Not listening as he attempted to match her pace. Not wanting to answer his questions.

She knew she would have to say something, and she knew she would have to lie. How was she supposed to even begin to talk about what she felt, and how disturbing her own thoughts were, with a man who'd known her for a decade as strong, fierce, short-tempered, hard as nails Sandra Pullman?

It was only when she got to the main doors, to a half-empty car park, and there was nowhere left to go without her car keys, that she stopped. It was only then that she swallowed down her tears as a knife pierced the ice, forcing her to feel the pain of it ripping through her, and faced Gerry. "Steve is fine. Brian is as fine as he ever is," she allowed, accounting for the fact that Brian was less than stable. "_I_ am fine."

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please feel free to review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! **

**Sarah x**

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Sandra stalked into the office the next morning, and her first act was to deliver an icy glare to Steve. "My office," she ordered. "Now." She tossed her coat onto the rack and dumped her bag carelessly in the corner. Steve closed the door gently behind him. "_Never_ put me in that position again," she said, barely disguising her hurt at his betrayal.

He didn't even try to deny it; they both knew he'd sent Gerry looking in those drawers knowing he'd find the pills and alcohol, and knowing Sandra would reassure Gerry that Steve was fine. What he clearly hadn't counted on was Sandra abilities when it came to lying. She'd been lying for years, so one more to add to the pile wasn't the most difficult thing she'd ever done.

"What's got into you?" he asked her. He wasn't raising his voice, and he wasn't getting angry. He was perfectly calm. This was why she'd wanted him to keep it to himself. Brian would've started panicking if he found out, and Gerry would have got all uptight and probably would've tried to force some sense into her.

She met his scrutinising gaze and answered him, "Nothing has got into me." It wasn't a lie. Nothing had hit her in the sense of a realisation or a specific event. It was merely a build up of everything that had happened and the pain she couldn't show.

"Then why were you even thinking about killing yourself?" he demanded bluntly. She'd known he wouldn't try to dress it up to be anything it wasn't. He'd seen her while she honestly weighed the option up in her mind, and he'd probably seen the exhaustion and defeat in her face. "You're bloody lucky it was me who walked in on you and not Gerry and Brian. Or Strickland," he added, echoing her previous thoughts. "At least I haven't hit the roof like they would."

She couldn't say anything. She couldn't deny what he was saying, because every word was the truth. She stood still while he walked over to her, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Why?" he asked her once again. "Why were you gonna do it?"

She just shook her head, swallowing back tears. She couldn't tell him anything he wanted to know. She didn't even know how much Brian and Gerry had told him. She didn't know what he knew about her family, about her past, about the past she never knew she had. She didn't know if he was aware that she had nobody, and nobody was stupid enough to try with her.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to take away the threat of the words spilling out by accident. "Out," she finally said. "We're not having this conversation. It's nothing to do with you."

"No," he defiantly resisted yet again. She could tell he was like Gerry in that he wouldn't follow an order if he thought Sandra was going to suffer for it. "Tell me."

She couldn't stop the tears now. The obvious concern had hit her hard enough that it felt like he'd punched her in the stomach. It was like the shattered remains of her shield had fallen in and were cutting her. "Sandra," he sighed. He pulled her into a tight cuddle, and she knew it was only because he didn't know what else to do.

She felt his arms around her, as if he was trying to protect her from something he couldn't see. He didn't seem to understand that the only thing she needed protected from was her own mind. And that was what was the most disturbing thing – her own mind was doing this to her. Everything she hadn't dealt with was catching up with her. She'd went through cases where this had happened to people who experienced repeated emotional trauma and tried to ignore it. But she never thought she'd end up one of them.

She pulled herself away from him and tried to regain her composure, noting that the tears hadn't stopped falling. "Just go," she told him. "I'll be OK." Another lie. The problem was that she couldn't find any words that truly describe what she was feeling like. Hopeless didn't even begin to cover it.

He wiped the silent tears from her cheeks, and, seeing he wasn't going to get an answer out of her, reluctantly left her in her office. He didn't want to, but she wasn't giving him an option. She knew she wasn't cooperating with his efforts to help her. Once he was safely out of the way, she sat at her desk and let it tear her apart. She let the pain take over, and she felt the sobs ripping through her chest.

She'd thought she'd felt it all before...grief, betrayal, anger, frustration, pain, iciness...but this was something else. It was like someone put all of those into one feeling and forced it into her against her will. She didn't want to feel like this, but there was no stopping it. She heard a knock at the door. If that was Steve coming to check up on her, she was going to throttle him. But when the door opened, Gerry walked through it.

She hastily wiped her tears away, willing them to stop just until she got rid of Gerry. "What do you want?" she snapped. She hadn't mean to sound so harsh, and he appeared slightly taken aback by her manner.

"Steve said-"

"Steve should learn not to say anything," she retorted before he could even finish. Gerry looked somewhat shocked by how she was speaking to him. Her self-control was waning rapidly.

"He said you needed to speak to me," he finished. God, was he ever going to give it up?! It was _nothing_ to do with him. "Have you been crying?" he asked her. "You didn't ask me through here, did you?" he deduced.

"Nope," she replied. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to be doing."

"I do mind, as it happens," he answered her.

She looked at him, struggling to control her breathing and stop herself from crying. It was odd; she hadn't properly cried in a very long time, but now she'd started, she couldn't stop. She felt so much pain that it was the only thing left to do. "Go back to work, Gerry," she groaned, trying to avoid the issue.

The way he looked at her was strange; almost fearful. But at the same time, the disobedient concern in his eyes was setting her on edge, wanting rid of him so she could pull herself together. She had to make sure they didn't see what she had become. She had to make sure they remembered her as Sandra Pullman and not some silly emotionally damaged woman.

She had to swallow back more tears, and had to force some steadiness into her breathing while Gerry looked on with confusion and anxiety. _It's not for you_, she reminded herself when she found it harder to keep the pain at bay. _It's for them_.

They didn't need to see her like that. They needed to see her with a front of strength and determination, not the broken spirit that lay underneath. "I'm fine," she finally forced herself to say, putting on a smile.

He didn't believe her. That much was clear from the look on his face and the way he shook his head very slightly. "There's nothing I can do that's gonna make you tell me truth, is there?"

"Nothing to tell," she replied casually. "I am fine. For the hundredth time, Gerry, I am _fine_!" she told him, trying to sound aggressive just to get rid of him. She tried ignoring him, reading the file on her desk. Well, pretending to, anyway. She kept it up for several minutes before Gerry broke the strained silence.

"The pills," he said, and her head snapped up. "Are they yours?"

"No," she lied.

"Are you ill?"

"No," she said. "_Your_ health, however, might take a turn for the worse if you don't leave me alone!" she threatened. He, again, was surprised by her short fuse and intolerance of his questions. In simple terms, she didn't want to answer. It was too complicated. He'd asked if she was sick, but he didn't seem to realise she was ill in a whole different respect. Physically, there was nothing wrong with her – and she suspected that was what he was wanting to know – but she couldn't deny that she wasn't well.

This whole game of running around in circles was twisted on so many levels. How long would it be until she ran out of breath and actually gave up? "Sandra," he sighed, just as Steve had done, only for a different reason. "Why can't you just be straight with me?"  
"Why can't you just leave me alone?!" she returned. "Go away."

He shook his head in despair, knowing he wasn't going to get it out of her yet. He simply left, because she'd given him no other option. She was left on her own again. It was what she insisted she wanted, but she wasn't so sure now. The problem was that if she said it aloud, it would make it real. And she didn't want to believe that this was what she'd become. She'd always been the strong one, the one that powered through everything. Turns out it was _that_ that was killing her. Maybe if she'd faced her problems back then, she wouldn't be in the position she now found herself in.

The tears returned with a vengeance, and she physically could not control herself. Something was breaking through the ice, and she didn't like it. Fear? Anger? She stood up and started pacing, trying to calm herself. Anger. Definitely anger. Her gaze fell on the photo of her parents hidden in a corner, away from everyone else's line of sight. She picked it up, looking at their smiles. She couldn't help but blame them for the way they brought her up. In a sense, they both abandoned her.

She threw it away from her, and it made a loud bang against the wall, the corner leaving a mark in the paint. There was something pacifying about venting her feelings. Something strangely reassuring about the fact she still had it in her to lose her temper. She looked at the shelf, and all the possessions that marked all the bad things done to her, or all the horrible things she'd done herself.

She picked them up, one by one, throwing them at the wall. Or the door. Or the floor. Until the door open and Gerry, Brian and Steve came in, shock crossing their faces. Gerry took her by the arm, trying to calm her, but she cast him off. In the end, Steve and Gerry took an arm each and pulled her into the main office, almost throwing her into a soft chair.

The three men gave each other dark looks before Steve finally spoke what they were all thinking. "This has got to stop."

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please feel free to leave a review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello again...well, I deserted this for a while, but now I'm (hopefully) able to bring myself to continue it. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, too.**

**Sarah x**

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"I've never seen you lose control like that," Steve commented, his tone both frustrated and worried.

"I have, and I don't like it," Gerry said, reminding her of that day she went berserk at Jack over the truth about her father's death. It was the one and only time her control had slipped so violently before today. It was the only time her self-discipline had evaporated in a fit of wounded rage. She shouted often, yes, but always over idiocy and professional disagreements, and very rarely about anything personal. No, she had done that only once, and it had shocked her boys just as much as it did last time.

Brian sighed and sat down on the arm or the chair. "Look, Sandra," he began, but she didn't want to hear it. She went to stand up but Gerry, clearly having had enough of her antics, pushed her down gently yet with a firmness not to be argued with. "Whatever you're feeling, whatever's going on with you, taking it out on us, your office and yourself won't make it any better. _Believe_ me."

"And you know what I'm thinking...how, exactly?" she demanded. She was suddenly calm, no longer wishing to destroy her possessions and everyone and anyone stupid enough to stand in her way. "Precisely. You don't have a clue. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going out."

She stood up, and Gerry's back promptly straightened in an effort to stand up to her, but she stood just as tall as him, keeping her stance square and threatening. She was the dominant one and all three men knew it; she left Gerry little choice but to stand aside. She probably would have slapped him if he had refused. Not to hurt him, but just to get away from the three of them. She would end up saying something she would quickly regret, and make herself look like a lunatic.

She went to her office – it now resembled a bomb site – and stepped over the broken picture frames and various debris she had created in her temper to get to her keys, bag and coat. Where she was going, she was yet to determine, and she knew full well she couldn't run from them forever, but for now it was the only real plan she could devise to escape her friends.

She didn't even get out of the main office before all hell broke loose.

"Sandra, don't do this!" Gerry pleaded with her, making her see her attitude from his point of view. All he saw was that something was getting to her and she lost her temper rather than talk to her friends. All he saw was her throwing her toys out the pram – quite literally – and refusing to justify it.

Just as he said it, Robert Strickland walked in. "Don't do what, exactly?" he asked, though he looked like he really didn't want to know and, looking back on past experience, she couldn't really blame him for his caution. "Sandra?"

"Sir?" she sarcastically retorted. He walked past her and she started to panic when he saw the mess she made of her office. She trashed it so badly that there was no point in even attempting to close the door.

"What happened?!" Strickland demanded as he surveyed the mess she had made.

"I...tripped," she invented feebly, knowing there was no lying so badly to Strickland. Both he and Gerry had known her too long and too well to believe such a crap lie. "It's fine, sir," she sighed, chucking her belongings onto an unoccupied chair. "I'll clean it up myself. Boys, just go home and take the day off. We'll start over in the morning."

She watched Gerry exchange a dark glance with Steve while Strickland and Brian tried to make sense of the madness before them. "Go on, before I change my mind," she ordered them. She could tell straight off that Strickland wanted to say something but she also knew he wouldn't, because his suspicions could not be proved; she knew her team well enough to know that they would never rat her out to the boss when it came to her personal frame of mind.

She wandered over and knelt down, picking up the broken pieces of glass one by one. The men left one at a time until only one remained, though she didn't know which of them it was. She did not look up. If she looked up, she just knew she would let her façade slip again, and the last things she needed was that.

Suddenly a hand passed her a plastic bag to put the glass in; she looked up and there stood Gerry. Groaning slightly, he knelt down beside her and started helping her to pick up the pieces. She ignored him, just mechanically and methodically binning the mess she made. It went on for another five minutes until Gerry said, "Sandra, stop. Just stop."

She raised her head and finally met his gaze. See, this was why Gerry had always confused her. He always gave her cheek and pointed out her flaws but when she needed him, and regardless of whether she knew she needed him, he was just there.

He took her hands and helped her to her feet, discarding the mess on the floor for the meantime. For whatever reason, he obviously thought she was more important. "Why can't you just talk to me?" he asked her. She looked away from him, unable to speak. "What is so awful that you can't even talk to me about it?"

"Why do you always have to be so good to me?" she sighed. "You make it impossible for me to stay pissed off with you for long."

He just gave a laugh and carefully put his arms around her. Leaning her head against his neck, her face buried in his shoulder, she had to curb the tears before they fell. "Whatever this is, Sandra, you can tell me. I won't shout at you. I won't judge you." At this, she wrapped her arms around his body, trying to draw some warmth and happiness into her own.

How could she tell him? How could she tell him that she didn't want to live anymore? How could she tell him she had been within an inch of committing suicide just yesterday? How could she even begin to tell him the depth to which she hated herself?

To do that would require more courage and strength than she had left to her.

"I can't," she whispered. "You don't understand. You have no idea how difficult it is even to think like I do."

"And how _do_ you think?" he replied. "How can I understand if you don't try and explain?"

It was a fair point and she couldn't bring herself to deny it. But still she found it impossible. She pulled back from him, deciding she was being weak and selfish in taking comfort when she could not do the one thing he asked of her.

"Sandra," he persisted almost silently. He reached up and touched her face lightly, almost like he was trying to shock it out of her. But the only thing capable of shocking her these days was her own appalling behaviour. "I'm not going to get anywhere with you, am I?" he sighed, his palm now resting flat on her cheek.

Reluctantly she shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell him. She was sure half the burden would have been lifted if she did let him into this land of nightmares she lived in. But she couldn't tell him. What if he wasn't as understanding as he claimed? What if he hated her for the simple reason that she was off her head?

"Well, let me just try and get one last thing through that stubborn thick skull of yours," he smiled. "You are an intelligent, funny, beautiful and strong woman. There is _nothing_ you can't beat. Whatever battles you're fighting, you can win. Sandra Pullman doesn't lie down waving a white flag."

His little speech touched her and to know he thought so highly of her almost made her cry.

She could only walk away back to the mess she was clearing up. The shards of glass kept nicking her skin as she started to rush when Gerry was next to her again. He must have noticed because he warned her, "Careful."

She picked up a photograph of her parents, no frame left to protect it, and realised that even if her current pain was their fault, it was never intentional. It was only product of single-minded selfishness. Blood smeared onto her father's face. "Shit," she whispered, wiping it quickly off on her jeans before it could stain.

Once the frames and glass were picked up and the photos themselves left in a neat pile, she fell back and leaned against the open door, expecting Gerry to leave her to feel sorry for herself now there was no chance of her accidentally hurting herself on shattered glass. Only he didn't. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

She let her head drop onto his shoulder, giving up on being strong for today. She took the photos into her hands and flicked through them, not really looking but just staring into them. They held no answers. And yet she stared.

Her parents never wanted her to turn out like this. They didn't help matters, definitely, but neither her mother nor her late father would ever have intentionally created a head case of a daughter. She blamed them still, to an extent, but she understood they never realised what they were doing. They had just been too self-absorbed to see what their behaviour was turning Sandra into.

She felt Gerry's fingers in her hair and wondered what his motives were. Could she even trust him?

That question in itself proved that there was something wrong. Not in many years had she mistrusted Gerry. Not on a personal level. As a copper he was probably the world's greatest idiot, but he'd been her silent and enduring rock, only breaching the peace to tell her right from wrong, for long enough to know that his motives were pure.

She didn't know how long they sat there, but she knew she didn't feel like she was dying when she was alone like this with him. It felt like he was keeping her breathing. This was what it was to truly need someone, she realised.

She had finally stopped denying it now. She needed Gerry.

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello! Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing - love you all!**

**Sarah x**

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Steve sat in his living room with a dram in his right hand, the remote control in his left and a football game he really didn't care about on the TV. He couldn't focus on the game when he knew Sandra was suicidal. He knew he probably ought to have at least told Gerry outright – but probably not Brian or Strickland for obvious reasons – but he couldn't bring himself to break Sandra's trust like that, and not least because she would make his life a living hell if he did.

He was stuck between Sandra and keeping her safe. He wasn't usually one for not being able to choose the right path, but here he was utterly lost. Really, what could he do? The phrase 'damned if you do and damned if you don't' sprang to mind.

Telling Brian was a path Steve was wary of. He knew the man had mental health issues of his own and did not handle stress very well, but he also knew Sandra was one of Brian's best friends and he would _want_ to know. And as for Strickland, well, Steve's main concern was him suspending Sandra or putting her on sick leave, which he knew she would hate the whole lot of them for.

But Gerry was different. It was clear to Steve from day one that Sandra meant the world to Gerry. It was why he had left them alone earlier – perhaps he had managed to talk some degree of sanity into her.

But he doubted it. Sandra was not easily swayed; he had learned that the hard way. He did not know her as well as Gerry or Brian or Strickland, and had not known her for a fraction of the time they had, but he saw something had changed. She was not the same woman he met when he came down to London for the first time. The smile was gone. The light was gone.

And yet he couldn't help but think he had to tell the rest of the team. Even if it was just to warn them that today's outburst may well have been the tip of the iceberg, surely it was the right thing to do? Surely they would want to know just how broken Sandra was just now?

The buzzer for Steve's flat dragged him out of his thoughts and his chair as he had to answer the phone. "Hello," he sighed.

"Steve, it's me, Gerry," the Londoner answered. "Listen, mate, get yourself down here. We're going to Brian's for dinner."

"Yeah, OK," Steve replied. "Be down in a minute." As he put his shoes on he realised just what Gerry was up to. He wanted to discuss Sandra with him and Brian and, presumably, Esther. And he didn't blame him. To watch his friend of a decade fall into a fit of rage like that was bound to unnerve even Gerry Standing. Gerry was fiercely protective of Sandra when her back was turned, and sometimes even when she could see it, and it didn't surprise Steve in the slightest that he was uptight over today's events.

By the time he was in the passenger seat of Gerry's car – he didn't dare drive after drinking whisky – it was starting to sink in. The past two days had been a shock to him and his efforts to help her had done no good. Talking to her didn't work. Leaving her weapons of self-destruction for Gerry to happen upon didn't work. Setting her up to talk to Gerry didn't work. But there had to be a way. Put it this way: where he, Gerry and Brian were involved, there was always a way, legal or otherwise.

They soon sat down to a dinner or shepherd's pie and vegetables. "So," Gerry said as Esther sat down, the last of the four of them to do so. "Any ideas?"

"You mean, as to why Sandra flipped her lid this morning?" Brian checked. "Well, it wasn't anything I said. At least I don't think it was," he added, clearly now wondering if it had in fact been his fault.

"Nah," Steve dismissed his worries. "She wouldn't do that at anything we said."

He was still in two minds...he wanted to do right by Sandra, but he wasn't sure whether telling this lot would just make things a hundred times worse. "What exactly happened?" Esther asked. Obviously she had not manage to extract much sense out of Brian upon his return home today.

"We were sitting in the squad room and then next thing we know there's smash after smash after smash coming from Sandra's office," Gerry recounted, the look on his face saying all that really needed said. "Turns out she'd taken every picture frame, award and ornament and chucked it full pelt at the bloody floor and walls. I've never seen her like that. I know she's got a temper but, Christ, we've never had to physically drag her away from anything like that before!"

Steve could see the cogs in everyone's minds turning; perhaps he had to tell the truth. Maybe, regardless of the reactions they took, betraying her confidence was in her best interests. The memory of having to physically throw her into a chair haunted him. It was chilling to know Sandra was suffering so much pain when she appeared, until now, to be reasonably OK.

"Alright," Steve sighed. "I've got something I need to tell yous."

"Oh, God," Brian groaned.

"Why don't I like the sound of that?" sighed Gerry.

"Oh, be quiet, you two," Esther scolded them gently. "Let the poor man speak!"

Steve nodded at her in thanks for reigning in her husband and Gerry. "Right," he sighed. "First, don't eat the face off me, OK? Sandra made me swear not to tell you and I didn't want to break her trust but it's gone beyond that now."

"You're worrying me now, Steve," Gerry informed him cautiously. "Come on, mate. Spit it out."

"OK," Steve began. "Yesterday I walked in on her with a halfie and a box of what looks like knockout strength painkillers."

"So, what?" Brian asked, a bit confusedly. "You're saying she was going to kill herself?"

"As much as it pains me, that's exactly what I'm saying," he answered. "She wanted to, anyway. Whether she'd actually do it or not..." he trailed away, trying to decide still if she she really would have used them. "I took it off her and tried setting Gerry up last night to find it but she obviously wormed out of it."

Realisation visibly dawned on Gerry's face while Brian looked like the news that Sandra was suicidal had knocked him to the floor. "So when you forgot your iPod-"

"I didn't really forget it," Steve finished for him. "Look, you _cannot_ tell Sandra I told you this. If she finds out I've told you, going by today's performance, she just might start throwing punches. I know I can look after myself but I still don't fancy being on the receiving end of her fist."

"Goes without saying. Christ, if she knew we were here like this talking about her, she'd happily beat us all to a pulp," Gerry gave a dark laugh, echoed by Brian, Esther and Steve. "But what can we _do_?" he asked.

"Well, I can tell you what you don't do," Esther told them. She must have sensed the men were lost in uncharted territory. "You don't go to Strickland unless you plan on being hospitalised by Sandra when he forces her on leave. You don't pester her about it unless you want a repeat of today. You don't abandon her unless you want her to do something awful to herself. And you do _not_ let her think she's got away with it. She'll only get worse if she thinks nobody cares."

Esther's orders made perfect sense to Steve, and too it seemed to Gerry and Brian, he also knew these things were easier said than done.

An hour later, Steve had Gerry in his living room, slouched on the sofa with a dram each. "I've only ever seen Sandra take an episode like that once before," he explained. He sounded a bit exhausted by it all already, and they both knew this was just the beginning. "Granted, Jack probably deserved the bollocking he got, and he probably should have told her the truth at some point in the thirty years he'd known her by that time," he sighed.

"Told her what?" Steve asked curiously.

"Her dad died of a heart attack when she was fourteen," Gerry replied. "Well, that's what her mum let her think until a few years ago when her mum had a stroke and Strickland said the wrong thing at the wrong time and she started digging for answers, and she didn't like what she found," he continued. "It turned out her dad killed himself while Jack was in the process of investigating him for corruption."

"Wait, wait, wait," Steve stopped him there, his alcohol clouded mind needing a moment or two to process what he was being told. "Sandra's dad was a copper who committed suicide when she was fourteen and he was being accused of corruption?" Gerry nodded and took a sip of his whisky. "So if she was so upset about it and she _knew_ her dad killed himself, why would she even consider it herself? It doesn't make any sense!"

Gerry rubbed the back of his neck in an almost agitated fashion before saying, "That's what's worrying me the most. She never accepts suicide, even in a case. She always exhausts all the other remotely possible theories before she accepts it. I'm thinking she must be desperate to even think about it."

Steve examined Gerry carefully, seeing that protectiveness coming to the surface again. He would probably have done anything to stop this had he known about it, but it was becoming apparent that Sandra was simply too god a liar for even Gerry to see through this time. "You really feel something for her, don't you?" he asked gently.

Gerry set the tumbler down on the table and leaned forward as he obviously contemplated his answer. "You know, the first case we worked together, she hated my guts. In her defence, I do have a talent for winding her up and I probably used too much the first couple of years we worked together," he laughed, and Steve had to laugh too, knowing that Gerry's talents for annoying Sandra were mostly toned down now. "Then we got to be quite close friends, and we flirted and all the rest of it. Well, we always flirted, but she was more relaxed about it for a while. And then, well, a whole load of shit hit the fan and she changed. She got a bit darker and more cynical, as if that were even possible, and she started to withdraw from our lives a little bit. I was worried about her more than any friend would have been, so yeah, I guess I do feel something more than friendship for her," he finally answered the question.

"So this...depression," Steve began, using the word for want of a better one. "It's nothing sudden, is it? You said she started to withdraw and she became a different person. Maybe it started all that time ago and now she's just had enough of it, or it's got too much for her to handle," he suggested a reason for Sandra's recent insanity.

"Maybe," Gerry agreed. "I just wish she'd said something to me. Even today, I couldn't get a word out of her about what's going on in that head of hers."

"These things take time," reasoned Steve. He clapped Gerry's shoulder and added, "We've just got to give her the time, mate."

* * *

**Hope this is OK!  
Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


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